Ride 2: Hell
by IGRice
Summary: Rey Camino hated himself for being a scumbag, never finding any worth in his own existence, always living the life of a con-man. Until one day, he learns of his past. His father, Jake Conway, a scumbag in his own rights, stirred up a hornets nest that is now reaping revenge on his bastard children. It's up to Rey to stop the newly reformed Devil's Hand.
1. Prologue: King Scumbag

PROLOGUE

KING SCUMBAG

I feel like shit. Actually, no, shit has a reason to exist. It helps the ecosystem, feeds the creatures that would someday grow and feed others, which would somehow be eaten by a much larger creature. That's right, the purpose of life is to eat shit and die. I, however, have no sort of purpose like that. My job as a mechanic should help our community by putting back working cars out onto the streets, or bikes, or whatever the hell people bring into the shop. At least, it should be my job, but my boss taught me this one weird trick that could get me rich quick. It's called "lying". Basically the concept of lying involves a good face, a good tone, and the right words to use on anyone who just wants to make a decent living.

You see often times people drive in here with their busted cars, fuming mad that they can't get to work, or that they can't make it to their kid's soccer game, or whatever. Point is, nobody comes into a body shop with a smile. It's gonna cost them money, time, and they're going to hear a ton of words they'd never want to or never heard of before. This makes them fragile and careless. They'll take any bit of advice they can get if it'll just fix their stupid car. After all they wouldn't be coming to scumbags like us if they could fix this car themselves, no no, they need "expert opinions". Now yes, I am an expert. I can tell anyone what's wrong with their car, whether it be loose wires or a faulty spark plug, but why stop there? We could also include the "dead alternator", the "busted up brakes", throw in a "leaky radiator", convince them to "replace their ignition coil", a side of a well deserved "oil change", and top it all off by replacing the intake manifold gaskets. I bet half of you don't even know what that is. It's okay, I know what that is, I'm an expert. That'll be $5,000 please.

I know what you're thinking, and yes of course I know I'm a scumbag. I think about it every day, in fact it tears me up inside that I can't seem to find any real purpose in my life other than to be a scoundrel, a con artist. Really it does but, the dollar bills speak louder than my festering thoughts of depression. It's really my only drug that's keeping me alive. This green wad of dough we call money is my personal antidepressants. A prescription made by Dr. Rey Camino; that's me. No, I'm not really a doctor. Yes it's "Rey", not "Ray". Son of a single mother who's always fooling around, trying to find the right man. Never knew my dad, but he's probably some scumbag living in the middle of the Nevada Desert, or Arizona or whatever. Mom said she was high when she fucked him, so she's not a reliable source. It doesn't matter now. Dear old dad was probably just as scummy as me. That sort of thing is hereditary, I think.

When I'm not drying out people's money in the day, I come back to a place I call home. The Red Devil's Prodigy, a bar within the confines of a rickety old building somewhere in Queens. This is where I take a seat and think about my life. When you have a bottle full of booze and a mind full of trouble, interesting things occur. Especially in a place like this where the common customer is scummier than me. Those sort of people show up as the night goes on. The later it is, the more notorious the customer is. Even so, I'm not scared being here. I belong here. Just like how a prisoner shouldn't be afraid of being in prison. I know what I'm doing is wrong. I belong here. If you really feel like this isn't the place for you, then get out. Still, that's not to say that because we're all criminals here, there wouldn't be any fun times. Like that one time I got drunk and copped a field with the most beautiful lady I've ever seen, only for me to realize that the beautiful lady was a 55 year old pudgy, hairy man. Turns out I didn't even grab a tit, I just mistook his bald head for a boob. A really shiny, round boob. With no nipple.

Yes it is within this lovely tavern I harbor my sorrows, but not before I get shitfaced. Honestly though, I do sometimes wonder if what I do is worth anything. Is it worth my time? Am I really worth something? I don't believe I'm meant for this, I never did. I'd like to get out, really I would, but I'm on top now, and I don't think I can get out without killing myself. That is until that one fateful night I met a man named Tyrell who was going to turn my life around. I really wish he didn't.


	2. Chapter 1: Return of The Devil's Hand I

CHAPTER 1

RETURN OF THE DEVIL'S HAND

After a typical day of being a total piece of shit, I came back to my home away from home, RDP, or Red Devil's Prodigy. I'm such a frequent customer that the bar workers are always there to greet me personally. Well, not always, in fact I'd say I'm more welcomed by the occasional biker in the middle of a bar fight that I somehow manage to avoid. I guess I really am just so slimy I can slip away from most trouble.

At any rate, I ordered the usual, an incredibly strong alcoholic beverage discovered within the coldest tundra of Russia. A certain drink that is said to open the doors of your mind and reveal the truth of one's self. Just one sip and you're floating on cloud nine. Yeah, bullshit, but hell I like it.

As I was taking sips of my drink, enjoying the current brawl that was going on, something about some guys girl or some other nonsense, I see a man emerge from the within the brawl, unscathed and looking towards me, approaching me, and as soon as he made contact with my eyes, his own eyes widen with surprise. I didn't know what to think, there was a certain thought of uncertainty going through my body, I felt as though that when he made contact with me, be it a "friendly" hello or a simple handshake, I knew my days as your normal mechanic would be forgotten.

I sat there, trying my best to avoid eye contact as I my body away from him, and I staring at the bar's drinks. Behind the shelf was a mirror, which allowed me to see him a bit more carefully without giving away the fact that I, too, was examining his every move. This man was old, black, and big. If I had to hazard a guess, he was probably near his late 40s, possibly even early 50s. He had on a black denim shirt, a big gray beard, and aside from the streaks of gray hair running along the sides of his head, he was a bald man. He was looking at two polaroids and quickly looked up towards me, and down to the photos. Every time he looked at me, I'd look down as to avoid eye contact if he saw the mirror. I was staring at my drink, looking with the corner of my eye at the mirror, waiting for the moment he was going to look down so I can gather whatever detail of him I could get should anything happen. I knew he was coming for me, I could just feel it, even before he pulled out those two photos.

The fact that he has two polaroids, which I assume both have pictures of me on them, means that he's been following me, looking for me, and by possible coincidence or by some info he's extracted from some low life, here we were in the same bar. He got me. I looked up at the mirror to catch more details, but what I saw made me jolt a little. It was him, looking directly at the mirror, directly at me. Furrowed eyebrows with the look of determination. He's definitely got me. As he approached the bar and somehow slipped past through the chaotic brawling, I thought to myself; thought about why he was looking for me. Was I mistaking? Maybe he's just confusing me with someone else. No, I knew that wasn't the case. That's the kind of look of a job well done, the look of a tired man ending his journey. I could sense him coming closer, I was paralyzed. I had no idea why I didn't move, I guess I just wanted it to be over with. Whatever "it" was. I hear the barstool next to me be pulled out, and he takes his seat.

"What will it be?" asked the Bartender. The mysterious man doesn't answer. "Hey," the guy persisted, "are you getting a drink or what?"

"Nah." he finally responds. The bartender shrugs and heads off. As soon as he left the scene, I felt his stare burrowing into me. I knew he was looking my way, but I didn't want to respond by looking back. I had two choices, either look at him and ask what the hell he wanted, or just drink and hope he just leaves me alone. I know I sound cowardly, but if by chance you were ever caught in the situation I was in, you wouldn't feel any different.

I couldn't take it anymore, I had to say something. I feign a double take, act surprised as to not give away any suspicion. Sure enough he's staring right at me with those cold black eyes. They were sharp eyes, the kind that have seen daggers penetrate a man's chest. No, actually his eyes were worse. It's as if he's seen genocide.

I asked "Can I help you?" This man looks away momentarily to pull out the two polaroids he had earlier and threw them in front of me.

He said "That's you, isn't it? You're Rey Camino, aren't you?" Shit, I was finally piecing it together as soon as I saw those photos. They were pictures of me in the shop, one captured from behind with my head turned, and one from the front, but they were both from a distance away. I knew it was going to happen eventually, just didn't know it was going to happen so soon. He was probably some sort of mafia gang member, and I must've gypped his boss or something. I swallowed my wad of spit and was ready to face my sins.

"Well, it sure looks like me. And that is my name." I threw the photos back at him. "How about you take a guess. IS that me?" I'm such an idiot. I don't know why I taunted him, just wanted to feel big I guess.

He scoffs "Sorry, boy. I'm just getting old. Can't really see shit that well anymore you know?" He starts putting the photos away in his jacket. "Nah, you're definitely Rey. Even a blind man can see that."

"Why are you following me?"

"Straight to the point. Good. Don't have to waste my time chit-chat. Breaking the ice ain't my thing."

"So, will you answer me?"

"I will, but not now."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's hard to explain shit to someone who's going to be shot soon."

The moment he said that was when my blood turned to ice. I wasn't sure if it was a threat, a warning, a premonition, whatever the fuck. I was too shocked to think rationally. Who is this guy? Why was he saying I was going to get shot? Why would anyone target me? Just what the fuck was going on!?

"What the fuck did you just say?" I exclaimed.

"Keep your voice down. He'll know."

"Who!?"

"The guy after you. Don't turn around." He turns away to look behind him. The brawl was still going on, this time more guys were involved and tussling around. I could only catch what I could see through the reflection of the mirror, and even then I wasn't too sure of the details. The old man turned back and said "He's definitely there. The guy with the bandana covering his mouth and the sunglasses." I turned my head to look at him.

"Don't fucking look!" he practically shouted at me. "In fact don't even fucking look at me!" I turned my head back to my cup. The brawl going on behind us was so loud that nobody heard this old man yell. Makes me wonder why he even told me to lower my voice in the first place, I can barely hear myself.

"Why is that guy trying to kill me?"

"He knows you're Conway's kid."  
"Who?" immediately after saying that, the name strung a cord in my memory. "Conway...Jake Conway? The man who fucked my mom? My dad?"

"Exactly that man."

I looked up at the mirror to see the man with the sunglasses. He was standing up.

"Oh shit," exclaimed the old man "Rey! You have to trust me! This man isn't the only guy who'll be after you from here on out!"  
"What!? What do you mean!?"

"It's your dad, Rey! I can't explain much, just know your dad did some crazy shit in his prime, and now that shit's coming back up the toilet and biting him right in the ass! We have to go! NOW!"

I still had so many questions, I don't even know what this guy's name is. Even if I followed him, I wasn't sure if it was going to lead to my death or not. Either way, I had the glorious choice of dying here, or dying with him. I might as well delay the inevitable.

The old man stood up, and I stood alongside with him, but as soon as I did, there was a loud crash and bang that was audible throughout the entire bar. For the first time since I arrived, the bar was silent. There was no noise, there was no movement. All I heard was the dripping sound of a water or something hitting the wooden floor. The mirror in front of me was cracked, like someone had punched it. Three bottles were broken on the shelves, two of them completely decimated. With the tiny bit of reflection I got from the broken mirror, I saw myself, standing, with a red splotch growing from my left shoulder and onto my shirt. I touched it with my hand, and pulled my hand off my shoulder.

I was bleeding.

I was shot.

Fuck.


	3. Chapter 2: Return of The Devil's Hand II

CHAPTER 2

RETURN OF THE

DEVIL'S HAND II

Getting shot isn't really as dramatic as it is on T.V or in the flicks. No giant wad of blood comes spewing out, no geyser of viscera ejects from your body. This was my first time getting shot, and I had these misconceptions in my mind. I expected something bigger, something grander. Shit, if I was going to die in that bar, I was expecting to die with all my blood all over the place. That's just not the case.

At first, I didn't really register the bullet going through me. It goes by so fast that you barely feel anything at all for about a few seconds. It was like a pin needle driving through me slowly, but as the seconds went by and my brain realized what had just happened, I felt the pain. Being shot is a very unique experience, and so I'd like to describe it in a unique way. Imagine a very tiny, but very strong, Mike Tyson punched you as hard as he could on your shoulder. Keep in mind, Mike Tyson has the ability to kill a man with one punch, just like a bullet. This is what it felt like, being punched by a very strong and tiny boxer. Weird, I know.

Anyway, I was standing there, blood on my hands and a mind full of questions. My mind was scattered; I didn't really plan on getting shot that night. After the bar I was thinking of maybe watching a movie, or catching a bus back home to catch the latest episode of whatever the hell was popular at the moment. It didn't matter, I'd have just rather done anything else than to be shot in the fucking shoulder.

"This is it," I thought "this is how I die. Fuck. Can't I just get one more drink?" I was delirious. So delirious, in fact, that I began reaching for my drink and tried my best to grab the cup and take one last sip. This was when I felt a large hand grab my arm and pulled me away, followed by the sounds of gunshots, this time they were extremely close to me.

"Aw fuck, did you get shot!?" The old man turned me around to face him. "Fuck. Shit, we gotta get outta here man, c'mon!"

As he was saying that, I turned my head to see where the shooter once stood, and there he laid slumped over, riddled with bullets. Still dazed, I turn to see that the old guy had a gun in his hand. I'd never seen a gun with a barrel that big, it was like something from a looney tunes short.

He pulls my arm hard. "Hey. Hey! Stay with me, you can move, right?" My mind told me to run, but I was so confused, and everything had happened so fast. I think I can trust him, if he really wanted me dead, he'd have shot me with that gun before when he was behind me. I had no choice, so I nodded. "Good! Let's fucking move, get that wound treated, and answer any questions you have. I'm sure you've got plenty."

I never noticed before, probably because I was sitting down the whole time, but this guy was tall. Really tall. Well okay, maybe not Andre the Giant tall, but maybe something like Jake the Snake tall. Just by the look in his eyes and how he killed the assassin so quickly, it's no doubt this guy not only has experience killing, but he's done it a ton of times. Too many times to count, I'd say.

He ran off without me, and I followed behind. My first few steps were hell, slight movement made me groan in pain as I felt my left shoulder move about and made the wound feel worse. I would utter a few cuss words every second, the pain was just getting to me. The biker gang that was there scattered and were leaving the building. I wasn't sure what they were scared of, I doubt these guys are unarmed. It was probably due to the fact that, since there was now a corpse lying on the ground, the cops would eventually show up and arrest any suspects. I'm sure none of them wanted to be taken in.

As the crowd hustled through, my eyes were focused on the old man, which wasn't hard considering his height and that his skin color was darker than the average person in the bar. At the same time I scanned my eyes through the crowd as to make sure nobody else was attempting to murder me. I was swimming through the horde of bikers, trying not to bump into anyone, still firmly grasping at my shoulder and biting down on my bottom lip.

"Fuck!" I would say. "Shit, fuck, goddammit! Fuck!" The pain was unbearable.

Just then I bumped into one of the bar workers I recognize. It was Theresa, a crude red headed, freckle-faced woman who doesn't take shit from anyone. Regulars at the bar called her "Mother Theresa" because of how she nagged and bossed us around. She's a fiery one.

Theresa looked at me and said "Rey? Shit, why are you-" she paused. Theresa looked at my shoulder, and her eyes widened, then looked straight into my eyes. "What the fuck happened!? You've been shot!"

"I know, Theresa. Trust me, fuck, I know!" I got annoyed by her stating the obvious.

"Well what the hell are you doing? C'mon!" she grabbed hold of my hand and was pulling me. I really felt like a ragdoll that night. "We gotta get you to the hospital, Rey!"

"Let go, Theresa!"

"Just follow me to my car, I'll get us to the hospital and get that fixed!"

"I said let me fucking go, Theresa!" I was losing him, the old man was farther from me because of her. "I can get there by myself! Just get the hell outta here!" Theresa was confused, understandably so. As soon as she opened her mouth, I turned and headed towards the old man. I knew she wanted to say something, but I really didn't have time to listen to whatever she wanted to say.

To be honest, I wasn't sure why I didn't just go with her. I knew she was my way out of the rabbit hole I just entered. If I had accepted her offer, I would've been out of this mess. I don't know what I was thinking, but for some reason I thought that by accepting her offer, I would've ended up dead. There are assassins after me, I needed to know why, I needed to escape. There wasn't anything stopping me from turning around and telling Theresa "ya know what? Nevermind, I actually wanna go with you". Yet for some reason I just kept walking forward. There was just something about this that nagged my mind, something I needed to scratch other than the 50 questions I already had lined up for this guy. I felt like this was it, this was my purpose. I'm going to find my purpose.

Just as those fantastical thoughts poured through my mind, there were gunshots from outside the bar. I stopped dead in my tracks. The people inside the bar ran even faster, like roaches in the dark scattering when the lights go on. The old man took cover behind the wall and tried peeking outside through the window. After nearly a fraction of a second went by, he took out a walkie talkie and started talking to whoever was on the other side. I couldn't hear him at all, too many people running and shouting.

Adrenaline kicked in, and I ran behind a thick brick pillar inside the building. I figured those gunshots were aiming for me, and possibly the old man. I had to get away from the windows, or else I'd be a visible target.

"Rey!" I heard the old man shout. He was much clearer now that the crowd was thinned out.

"Yeah!?"

"Okay good, you're still alive."

"What the fuck is going on!? Who are you? Why are people after me!?"

"Shit…" he took a moment to respond. "Well, even though we're being shot at right now, I guess now's a good time to explain. After all, this might be your last night alive."

Fuck him for saying that. Seriously, fuck him. Suddenly, I heard something crash through the window. "Was it a bullet?" I wondered. Then, from outside the building, I heard someone yell "GRENADE!" followed by a huge explosion.

"Did this crazy fucker just throw a grenade?" I said outloud.

"He did." responded a feminine voice. I turned my head and was startled to see Theresa right next to me holding a shotgun and smoking a cigarette. "I saw him throw it."

"The fuck!?" I yelled

"What!?" The old man shouted back, "Is someone there with you!?"

"Nah! Just...a friend!"

"You consider me a friend?" said Theresa.

"Theresa what are you doing!? Get outta here!"

"I'm curious. Someone's shooting up my bar, do you really think you're the only one with questions?" She exhaled smoke through her nose. "Just ask your questions, and as soon as he answers, I'll leave you alone."

"This ain't even your bar…"

"I've been working here for 10 fucking years. It's my bar."

I didn't have time to argue, I needed to know what the hell was going on.

"So, are ya gonna tell me what's going on, or what?" I shouted at the man through the noisy hail of bullets. "First off, what's your name!?" Just then, something slid my way. It was a walkie talkie, the same one the old man was talking into. I looked at Theresa and she shrugs. I hesitantly pick it up. "He-Hello?"

"My name is Tyrell." his voice came through. "I'm someone who knew your father, someone who's trying to fix this mess he started."

"You keep mentioning my 'dad', Jake. Just what the hell did he do to make this happen!?"

"Your father is Jake Conway, a vietnam vet whose brother was murdered the day he returned back home from the war. The kid's name was Mikey, smart kid, never really was the biker type. He was killed by a gang known as the Devil's Hand." As Tyrell was explaining himself, the gunshots outside grew louder. Actually, it wasn't that they were louder, it was just that there was more of it. Yelling and explosions filled the streets, yet Tyrell continued explaining without hesitation.

"Now you may be wondering why the Devil's Hand wanted to kill Mikey. It wasn't just Mikey, see. It was every Conway. Jake's old man, your grandfather, made a bet with their leader, Caesar. The bet was on a woman. Caesar won, but your grandad's a sore loser, and took back his girl while shooting the shit out of as many Devil's Hand thugs as he could. Ever since then, the Conways have always been in at war against the Devil's Hand."

"What about Jake? What the hell did he do?"

"Well, your dad-"

"Don't say he's my dad, man. He's nobody to me, just say Jake." I was still high on adrenaline, and sheer curiosity was forcing me to not blackout from the gunshot. I was going to find out what the hell had happened, even if it kills me. Which it might.

"Fair enough. Jake took out every single man of importance in the Devil's Hand. He killed their lieutenants, their generals, their majors, and damn well killed more than half of their goons. In the end, he even ended up killing Caesar himself…" The gunshots sounded fewer and fewer as time went by. He continued "but that wasn't enough. The Devil's Hand rose back from nothing, and are stronger now than ever before. They control the entire goddamn country. Now they're after you."

"Why me?"

"Because you're a Conway. Like it, or not." The gunshots stopped. Everything was silent again.

I still had more to asked. I held up the radio to my face and opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I couldn't say anything, or hear anything. My vision was fading, the world was going black. I saw the floor getting closer and closer, and just like that, I was out.


	4. Chapter 3: Rise of The Devil's Hand

CHAPTER 3

RISE OF THE

DEVIL'S HAND

Light and vision was coming back to me. It felt like a only a moment ago that I had passed out. Before I could open my eyes, I felt the chair I was sitting on rumbling, moving, bumping. It was an odd sensation, made me kinda nauseous. As my hearing was also coming back, I heard two familiar voices talking to each other, one sounded deep, and the other was softer but still kinda rough. They were asking something along the lines of me being okay or something.

My eyelids slowly slid up, and right before me I saw Theresa and Tyrell talking to each other. I could see Theresa brought that shotgun of hers, made me kinda nervous. Just as Theresa noticed me, she smiles.

"Well damn, that was fast." she said.

Tyrell raised his eyebrow, then turned his head towards me. He looked shocked. "Shiiit," he exclaimed "you are one tough bastard."

I looked around me and saw that we were in the back of a van, but not one I'd ever seen. It looked like the back of a FBI agent's or something vehicle. I looked down and saw that I was shirtless, and my shoulder had been bandaged up.

"Where are we…?" I asked groggily.

"We're safe." Tyrell responded. "Safe in the back of an armored, military grade automobile. Nothing's getting through this."

Just then, my shoulder felt numb, and there was this burning pain I couldn't get rid of. It kept digging into me and was just unbearable to stand. I groaned out in pain.

Tyrell saw me in pain and said "The bullet went right through you. Completely missed the collar bone, and thankfully missed your spine. You are one lucky bastard."

"Fuck, man!" I shouted in pain. "I don't feel very lucky!"

"Quit being a baby." said good ol' Mother Theresa.

I look at Theresa quizzically. "Why are you here?"

"I still don't have all the answers I needed. I tried asking this old fart, but he said he'd rather wait for you to wake up. Says he doesn't like to repeat himself."

"Did you really need to bring that shotgun?"

She shrugged. "Just in case." I wasn't sure how to respond.

"Don't worry," said Tyrell "she's not one of them."

"One of...who?" The gears started turning in my head. "Oh, right, the Devil's Claw or whatever. I still have a few questions about that shit." The sharp pain suddenly came back. "FUCK!"

"Ask away." he responded, completely ignoring my cries of pain. The car kept moving slightly forward, inch by inch.

"Okay, first off...where's this car heading?"

"To a very expensive doctor."

"What? Didn't you already patch me up?"

"We did what we could with the medics and short amount of time we had. I figured we'd see someone professional about it."

"Someone professional? Ack!" Now I was just getting annoyed at that burning pain, I just grit my teeth and kept asking, I was too curious to be in pain now. "Wouldn't you want to avoid someone like that? Won't they report shit like this to the police?"

"Nah, he's a black market doctor. He won't rat us out."

"Okay, hold your fucking horses. What is this 'we' and 'us' crap? Do you work for the government or something?"

Tyrell chuckled heartily "Boy, do I look like a narc?"

"How the fuck would I know?"

"Well I ain't. I was in the military a long time ago, but those were my old days. Heh, more like my young days. Nah, the people I'm talking about are my personal band of mercs. They work for me."

Tyrell reaches underneath his seat and grabs a small aluminum box. When he opened it, I expected a ton of grenades to be in there, but it was just a carton of cigars. Cuban maybe. Now hear me out, it's not often you can say this about a man, but the way he lit his cigar looked so badass I couldn't help but notice every little detail. He takes one out carefully, examining his cigar. With a smile on his face, he closes the box and puts it back under his seat. Then he pulls out this fancy shmancy looking knife with a faded color on the blade and cuts off the end, then proceeds to light it up with a golden lighter from his front pocket I didn't even see him grab. It was all so smooth and cool, made me kinda wanna smoke one if it weren't for me being in total pain. Asshole didn't even offer me a cigar.

With two puffs of smoke, he continues "I've grown an underground mercenary service of my own. It first started with soldiers I'd meet on the battlefield, then cops from the local department got in. After that, anyone who came back from The Gulf wanted in. Heh, anyone who comes back from the war always wants some more action. Anyway, you get the point. I run a powerful merc group, and they're helping me help you."

"Alright, well...why help me? What do you get out of this? Are you helping me cuz you knew Jake? Were you two close?"

He exhales a large cloud of smoke, then inhales them back through his nostrils, only to exhale them again. Tyrell responds "Personally, I don't really care much about Jake. He wasn't a very loyal soldier. Now yes, he helped me when I needed help, and vice versa, but once he killed Caesar, he up and left. Never talking to anyone again. I respected that decision. We never spoke much after that." Tyrell knocks off the ashes from the cigar with his finger, which then falls on his shoe. He continues after a moment of silence. "To answer your question, well, I'm doing this because I fucking hate the Devil's Hand. Their plan is to eliminate the Conways, and if that really brings them pleasure, well then I'm not going to give it to them. They're gonna have to fight through me."

"About them, the Devil's Hand? You said Jake beat them, killed off half their crew, destroyed their most powerful members? How is it they're still around then?"

Just then the truck violently came to a halt and threw almost all of us to the other side of the car. Theresa was on the floor, I was writhing in pain because of the sudden movement, and Tyrell was pissed. He angrily stood up and slammed the car wall.

"Drive carefully, dipshits! We got an injured person here!" mumbling came through the other side. "Fuck your traffic jam! Just take it easy! Goddamn…" Tyrell sat back down and cleared his throat. He was staring right at his cigar, which was on the floor. He grabs it "Fucking dropped my cigar...goddamn expensive."

"Tyrell!" I said, louder than I anticipated. I was in too much pain to care.

"Oh, right." Tyrell adjusts himself whilst Theresa sits back down. Nobody really noticed her fall. "Well, to be honest, we don't even know. The Devil's Hand was done, it was wiped off the face of the Earth thanks to Jake, but somehow there were small whispers going around town. Things like 'the devil's hand is going to Texas' and 'the devil's hand's got a new leader'. I was worried. I didn't think it was true, it was just something to scare the locals probably. Some Scooby Doo shit or somethin'. But no, it wasn't that at all. It was all true."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock."

"Watch your tone, mother fucker." A sudden change in Tyrell's voice. "I saved your life and I'm answering your questions, don't make me regret it, punk." He was still probably mad about the car stopping so hard.

"Sorry, man. Just...I got shot, and now my life's in danger. This shit is way too much to take in."

"Right…" Tyrell said, sounding unsure if I was being sincere or not.

I wanted to break out of the awkwardness. "So, who's the leader?"

"We don't know. Just some guy who showed up from nowhere and took the helm. We checked everyone who was in the Devil's Hand, but we never found anyone who could possibly take on the position. Well, anyone alive at least. That just means the new leader has to be someone from outside the gang, or at the very least be related to Caesar in some way."

"Did Caesar have any relatives?"

"A daughter. Jake's wife. Mikey's girl."

"Fuck, well….shit."

"I know, that's some crazy shit." Tyrell reached under his chair again, this time he grabbed a bag of chips, opened them, and began eating them. Fucker still didn't offer me any.

"Man, this is getting nuts." Theresa said out of nowhere. "Keep going, this whole thing is like something out of a soap opera."

"Speaking of Jake" I added, ignoring Theresa's stupid shit "how is it you guys were able to find me? I'm his son, right? What proof do you have that I'm his son?"

"Well-"

"Wait." I cut off Tyrell "You said there were multiple Conways?"

"Yep."

"Holy shit, are you saying Jake fucked and impregnated other women other than my mom?"

"A ton."

"Piece of fucking shit…and so how were you able to find me?"

Tyrell reached into his pocket and handed me a folded piece of paper. "Read it." he said "That's a list of all the known Conway kids so far. It's the same list the Devil's Hand has."

"How is it the Devil's Hand has this list?" I asked as I read through the names. Donald, Rudolph, Joseph, Austin, Jermaine, et cetera. A few feminine names there too, like Ashley and Crystal. Next to some of the names was a red mark, I felt that didn't mean anything good.

Tyrell rubbed his beard. "We have an idea, but it ain't a very pretty one. It's about Jake."

I scoffed "Of course it is. Go ahead, tell me. What, are you afraid of making Jake look bad? He's the scum produced by scum, I don't think you could make me think any less of him."

Tyrell sighed. "See, after the feud between Conway and Caesar, Jake somehow managed to accumulate a large sum of money. Where he got it we have no idea, some local rumors went around town for a bit along with the Devil's Hand rumors. Some people said he took over the Devil's Hand, others said he was a part of an underground racing ring that paid large, but was an illegal blood sport, and a few of the crazies said he did voodoo magic to materialize dollar bills. Or that he just won the lottery. We're not really certain, maybe it's all of the above. Well, except for the voodoo crap."

"Okay, but what does this have to do with this?" I said as I waved around the list.

"You see, after he got the money and lived out his days, he started paying the sluts he slept with to be quiet...no offense."

"Just keep talking." I said, gritting my teeth

"Conway wanted nothing to do with his past, so he paid off the young ladies to shut their mouths, take care of the kids without him, and never mention his past again. Conway wanted a better life. A happier life. He wanted to stay quiet if and ever the Devil's Hand, or some other bike gang came and terrorized his family. He's been paying these debts for years."

I took another look at the list. Sure were a lot of names in there now that I thought about it. "And how do you know this?"

"Jake told me himself."

"I see...but I thought you two weren't that close."

"We ain't. But he was still my brother in arms, I couldn't deny his calls when he had those flashbacks being in the war...and sometimes flashbacks of his biker days." Tyrell said somberly. "He told me one of his most recurring dream was of him watching his brother getting his throat cut open. He said it'd be in third person, and that no matter how much he'd try and stop it, he could never do anything about it."

The air grew silent, Theresa sat there eyes focused to the ground, looking sad. Looking lost. I had no sympathy for Jake before, but hearing all this from Tyrell, it made me feel something for him. I wasn't sure if it was sympathy, or empathy, or just nothing at all. This was the man who abandoned my mom, who left us alone, who forced my mother to date several other guys that made her feel lower than shit. The money was always a mystery to me, she'd struggle to find a job, yet somehow we were able to afford an apartment, even if it was small and cold. It was warm enough, but it felt empty at times. Those awkward nights where my mother and I shared the table to eat, both of us saying nothing but understanding, truly understanding what the other was thinking. Why couldn't we live luxuriously? What made us different? Why did we need to steal sometimes? Why do all these men hate her, and why does she keep running back to them? Why didn't I have a father to love me?

As I remembered this I realized I truly did not feel much for Jake. What he was doing was selfish. He wasn't helping the single mothers he abandoned, he made them single mothers to begin with. He payed them off to shut their mouths, he payed them to be good little slaves and to never come close to him again. It wasn't enough though. It wasn't enough, Jake. We were all still cold, so very cold, and hungry, oh so very hungry. Jake abandoned us, he saw us as nothing more than a hinderance, a tax payment, a deposit with no option to withdraw. I gripped the list tighter, crumpling it. The noise made Tyrell look up at me, seeing me twist the paper up. He didn't stop me, I think he understood my emotions towards Jake.

"So now what?" I asked, "How are you guys planning on destroying a powerful gang as the Devil's Hand?"

He smirked, "We're pretty strong too, ya know. But you're right, they're strong, fierce, brutal, and organized. The Devil's Hand has 9 different divisions called the '9 circles of hell'."

I chuckled "Very original."

"Laugh all you want, this shit is serious. As serious as that gunshot wound you've got right now."

My chuckle stopped as soon as he mentioned that. What an asshole.

"They have 9 circles," he continued "9th circle is Limbo, which is both Canada and Mexico. Territories the Devil's Hand can't completely control, but they do smuggle drugs and other illegal accessories through hidden trading channels."

"Even from Canada? What illegal stuff can you get from there?"

"A ton of shit. I won't even be able to talk about half of them."

"Well alright...so the next is Lust, right?"

"Er...right. How'd you know?"

"Bro, I read Dante's Inferno."

"I see…" I could see he's never read it before either. It's possible this was the first time he's ever heard of the book. "Yeah," he continued "Lust is next. That's where we're at. That ring covers New York, Florida, North Cal, and Washington."

"Sounds like a big ring, wouldn't they be the most powerful ones?"

"No, all the power belongs to the master, Beelzebub himself. The first ring, which is Texas, is Treachery. That's the one ring that rules them all."

"You'd think a big ring like that would have the most power." Said Theresa who had been quiet this entire time.

"Yeah, you would. But it ain't about how much space they own, it's about how much money they make. Being that the 8th ring is the largest, their leader can't be at all places at once."

"Leader?" I asked.

"Every ring has a leader, a prince as they're called. Every one of them has a job, help the rings next to them. For example, the 6th ring, Gluttony, not only has domain over his own personal hell, but he also aids the 7th and 5th ring also. This system makes sure none of them have total control, except for the first ring, who only helps himself and reaps off the profit the other rings make. He judges who stays the prince, or who gets kicked out. He's the one with total control."

"You said you don't know who the leader is," said Theresa "what makes you so sure it's a guy?"

"C'mon now, little lady. This is a biker gang. They treat all women like property, like they're worthless. Women in biker gangs only serve one purpose, and that's to fuck their man." Theresa gives a mean glare. Tyrell just shrugs, "It's just how it goes, ma'am."

"Do you at least have a hint as to what this guy's name is?"

Tyrell focuses on me again. "They call him Asmodeus, the King of Demons. It's an alias of course, but that's all we could get out about him."

"You couldn't find any other info?"

"Apparently nobody within the gang knows who he is either, not even the 7 princes can take a guess. With this in mind, Asmodeus moves around freely, and is most likely not restrained to Texas. He's probably in New York right now, or could just be somewhere in Oregon. He could be anywhere, and we wouldn't even know it."

I gulped. Damn that's kinda scary. Fuck it, it's horrifying! It would make anyone paranoid, to know that your worse enemy could be lurking within the same crowd as you, or he could be several thousands of miles away. How would you know? They know you, but you could never find out who they were before they've already gutted you. Fuck, Jake. What exactly did you get me into? I never asked for any of this, why did you always make life so fucking hard, Jake?

The car stopped, and a knocking could be heard from the other side. "We're coming!" yelled Tyrell so loudly that it startled Theresa, who was right there besides him.

"C'mon, Rey. Put your shirt on, we're about to meet your half-brother."

My eyes widened as he stood up and was about ready to leave the armored car. "Wait, the fucking doctor is my half brother!? He's a Conway!?"

Tyrell halted in his tracks. "Shit, forgot to mention that. When you're my age, you tend to forget important shit like that."

"Fuck...well, what's his name?"

He turned around slowly and looked me in the eyes. "His name is Mikey."


	5. Chapter 4: Black Market Doctors

**CHAPTER 4**

 **BLACK MARKET DOCTORS**

Following Tyrell into the shady looking building he parked in front of, or whoever was driving the car parked in front of, he told Theresa to head back to the bar, said she wasn't needed for whatever it was we were going to do. While she was reluctant at first, I soon convinced her that whatever it was that I had gotten myself into was something she did not want to be a part of. Surprisingly, she agreed. After that, she was escorted by one of Tyrell's mercs back to the RDP bar, where I'm sure she had quite a bit of explaining to do with fellow NYPD.

The funny looking building Tyrell took me to was broken down, run down, whatever you wanna call it. It was old, and it looked fucked up. Like it's been a prop building of too many mobster movies or something. Maybe perhaps it's been in real violent mob-like events. I couldn't tell for sure, but I knew this place wasn't your average run-of-the-mill creepy building. It was a secluded building in a secluded forest with the Washington Bridge right off in the distance. The bandages still wrapped around my arm made me feel kind of stiff, and the sharp pain persisted, though it wasn't as bad as before.

Tyrell and I, along with four or so mercs on guard duty, stood in front of a rusty steel door. A few indents and bullet holes through the door could be seen under the moonlight. In fact, looking at the ground I could tell that that's not the only thing riddled in bullets. Tyrell took out a sheet of paper from his jacket. At this point I wondered just how much crap he has inside that thing. At any rate, he took the sheet of paper, marked with a strange insignia, slid it underneath the door and waited. I was wondering what exactly we were waiting for.

"A black market doctor?" I thought "Just what the hell kind of profession is that? He's one of the Conway kids?8 I need to know more."

Just as I opened my mouth the door suddenly creaked opened slowly, and a tall man with a mustache stood behind the door, hidden the darkness while the moon lit just only a portion of his face. Not saying a word, the two giants that stood before me only looked into each other's eyes menacingly. I was certain one of them was going to pull out a gun, like a wild west scenario or something. The mustached man was then sticking something out from the shadows, and I swear what I saw was a gun, but in actuality, as it came into the light, I started to realize that it was the same envelope that Tyrell inserted into the door.

The man spoke with a deep and gruff voice "There is no doctor here. You must be mistaken." He had a very distinct Russian accent. Like the kind you'd hear from a typical Bond flick.

"You must be the one who's mistaken," replied Tyrell "we're not here for a doctor."

"Then why?"

"We want to learn about the weather."

"It's very clear tonight."

"But clouds are coming. In fact, it might rain." To this response, the Russian man's eyes widened.

"You'll need shelter from the rain." He widens the door for us. "Come in."

Tyrell looks back at me, and he gestures me to follow him. Not wanting to stay outside with the big guys with guns, I happily oblige. As soon as I cross through the door where the Russian once stood, the smell of blood and smoke filled the air. It was pungent and had a hold on the atmosphere of things. The hallway soon ended on a stairway, and we descended down the flight of stairs. We just kept going down and down, but no end in sight. Seeing as how this'd be the perfect time to ask anything, and to disperse the awkward silence Tyrell and I had, I asked a few questions.

"Tyrell, what was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

"That conversation back there. You gave the guy some letter, then started babbling about the weather. What does that have to do with anything?"

"It's a safety lock. A conversation to update each other on the current situation while also pushing away the idiots."

"Really?" I asked as I scratched my head. "So, what exactly was this little 'secret' conversation all about?"

"He told us the weather's clear, means we can come and go. No cops anywhere, not that busy, relatively safe environment. Heh, kinda shocking actually. It's usually not like that."

"So I'm guessing the whole 'rain' talk was about the Devil's Hand, huh?"

"Yep. Smart man."

We were still descending. It's incredibly deep and incredibly dark, I started hearing buzzing noises and groans from down below. It was as if I was about to enter a horror movie or something. The walls had scratch marks, and I mean deep scratches. Like someone had a machete fight here or something. The stairs were red, probably from all the blood this particular staircase has seen. There's no way Tyrell was taking me just to see a doctor, whoever came through these stairs and building have seen way more violence and have endured much more than just a bullet wound. No, Tyrell wanted me to see my half-brother. He wanted to make sure I see him face to face. Why exactly? I'm not sure. I wanted no part of this, I was hurled into this mess like a rocket launching into space. And yet, I still think about when Theresa asked me to go with her to the hospital. I said no. I think about it as if it was something that would haunt my dreams, even though it happened just a few hours ago. Even now, I have yet to say "No, Tyrell. I will not go with you". Either I'm more morbidly curious about where all this is headed, or I was just too stupid to say anything.

I prodded for a few more answers. "You seem pretty familiar with the lingo, Tyrell. Been here before?"

"Once, and that was earlier tonight.'

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, came here to warn the roosky about the Devil's Hand. I knew one of their doctors was a Conway, just didn't know which one. Heh, if you thought that last conversation was cryptic, you should've seen me talk to him before."

"So, one of them is my half brother, but you don't know which one? Couldn't you have just asked them?"

"None of them have their real name associated with them when they're here. All of them have some sort of pseudonym."

"But Mikey's in trouble. I'm pretty damn sure he'd drop his secret identity if he knew that."

"Yeah, you'd think that, but all these guys want is money. You can tell them the whole fucking nation is after them, and they'd just reply with 'when's my next paycheck'."

"C'mon man, he can't be that damn money grubbing."

"Yeah?" Suddenly, both Tyrell and I were in front of a door at the bottom of the stairway. Tyrell barges in with me directly behind him. In the giant hospital-like room, there were several doctors of all shapes and sizes, but they all had that distinct sleazy look on them. The ones who weren't busy operating or whatever looked our way with interest. Tyrell stood there for a second, sizing them all up. Finally he bellows out "Who here is Michael Conway?"

Immediately after saying that, a group of doctors began haggling with Tyrell. Some yelled out "WHY? ARE YOU GOING TO PAY US IF WE TELL YOU?" while others replied "I DON'T KNOW, BUT I'M A BETTER DOCTOR, AND I'M CHEAPER". They were all making some sort of statement, like they were selling us something, whether it'd be info or their own services. Their yells were as diverse as their skin color. Some were yelling in Spanish, others were talking with a very thick accent. Not just Russian, the accents ranged from Indian, to British, to even Japanese. These were all traitors of the profession, honorless little shits that crawled back underground like the little rats that they were. Though I had no trouble feeling at home here.

"Tyrell, are you crazy!?" I said in a hushed yet angry tone. "Won't you get shot for asking shit like that!?"

"Nope. They don't care. Besides, at least we know who isn't Mikey."

"What do you mean?"

"If the real Mikey were here, he'd probably be right out the exit by now, and so far I didn't see anyone run."

"He could've crawled."

"I wouldn't." Tyrell pointed to the floor, and I looked down. I saw all this blood, just pools of it and bacteria and just the absolute worst floor my boots have ever tread on. I was just downright disgusted, I guess the sheer fascination of the squad of goon doctors made me forget where I was. I felt like gagging, and I came damn close to actually throwing up, but fuck. I really didn't wanna see my bile mixing with the blood, so I kept it in. "Come on," he continued "let's go find your brother."

We walked all over, searching for my brother. My brother. How crazy is it that my brother was somewhere here amongst the worst of the worst? It was surreal. Actually it was surreal that I even had a brother in the first place, and a doctor brother no doubt! I was excited, but also disgusted. Not just by the absolutely atrocious floor, the screams going on in the background, and the sound of bones and guts being cut and tossed around respectively, but by the fact that Jake Conway somehow managed to reproduce two scumbags on this planet. I was one of the two, and what about those names I saw on that list? Surely some of them were prostitutes, whores, pimps, thugs, lowlifes, lawyers, and probably even a corrupt cop or two. Jake had several children, and he made sure they'd never creep up to his life for as long as he lived. I could see why, the family reunion would've been absolutely crazy. I wanted to know more about these other "kids".

"Tyrell, on that list I read a ton of Conway kids. Beside their names was a red mark, what exactly does that mark mean?"

"It means they died." Tyrell's voice was gruffer than before, it sounded more serious and at the same time it sounded regretful. For a man who claims he doesn't care about Jake or his issues, he sure doesn't act like it. Maybe they were closer than I had thought.

I continued "Died? Does that mean-"

"No." he cuts me off "Well, not all of them. Some of them died due to an outside source, like murder or health issues. But yes...some of them did die because of the Devil's Hand, but that's just recently."

"How can you tell?"

"They left their calling card on their victims. Three sixes on their stomachs. The mark of the beast, the Devil himself."

"Fuck...how many of them have had that mark?"

"Three. Three of them."

Even though I had no idea who they were, other than the names I saw on that piece of paper, I had a strange feeling in my gut. I wanted to feel sad, but I had no real purpose of being sad. I didn't know them, I never will, but they were still my brothers and sisters. I'd be totally heartless if I hadn't felt something. At least, in that moment, I realized that I wasn't so cold after all.

"His name is Mikey, right?"

"Well, Michael. But Jake always called him Mikey."

I stopped in my tracks "Hold the fucking phone, so he really IS Jake's son!"

Tyrell looks back with one eyebrow raised. "You're all his kids."

"No no," I stammered "what I mean is, he was actually raised by Jake himself...wasn't he?"

"Well yeah. I'd figure you'd take the hint from the fact that his name was Mikey. Ya know? After his dead brother?" Tyrell smirked, then chuckled, then started laughing loud as hell. Sounded really bizarre amongst the cries of agony. All I wanted was confirmation on this shit, he didn't need to laugh at my face like a jackass.

Suddenly, a door opened and slammed into Tyrell. It nearly knocked him flat on his back, but seeing just how fit the old geezer was, it didn't do much but throw him aback and stop his obnoxious laugh. On the other side of the door was a slim looking fella wearing a doctor's uniform and had bleached blonde hair, and a clean shave. He was looking down, directly at, what I assume was his cellphone. The man looked lost in thought and sighed heavily.

"Mother fucker!" shouted Tyrell "Fucking hit me in the face."

This caught the doctor's attention. "Oh! Oh goodness, I'm really sorry! I-I didn't know!"

"Yeah, no shit! I can tell by the fact that you were too busy jerking off your phone there!"

"I'm sorry, really! I'll help fix you, are you bleeding? Are you severely hurt?" He got closer to Tyrell. He was brave for even thinking about getting that close to an angry and old black giant like him.

Tyrell pushed him off "Yeah I'm hurt, but I'm not stupid! I know you hurt me on purpose so you can heal me for 'cheap'! Am I right!?"

"No, no sir!" said the irritatingly fragile doctor. "I just came back from a very important call, that's all!"

"Bullshit!" Suddenly Tyrell's angry demeanor changed, now he seemed more shocked than he did angry. Both the doctor and I were confused for that moment, and suddenly Tyrell came closer to the scrawny guy and said "My God...you look just like him."

"I'm sorry?" the doctor said "Look like who?"

"Your father. You look just like him."


	6. Chapter 5: Mikey

CHAPTER 5

MIKEY

"Tyrell," I cut in "what the hell are you talking about?"

"This man…" Tyrell muttered to me. He turned back to the doctor and asked "What's your name?"

"Phillip. Um, Philip Kowalski."

"No...your real name."

"T-That is my real name, sir…" the doctor was getting shaky and acting more suspicious. Tyrell was onto something,

"Mikey...don't you remember me?"

"What…?" replied the doctor weakly.

"WHAT?" I said in astonishment, which caught the eyes of the pesky doctors.

"I'm Tyrell. Your father and I were good friends. I remember when you were just a small child…"

"No...I'm sorry, I don't know any Jakes."

"I didn't mention anybody named Jake." Tyrell has him hooked, line, and sinker. There was no escaping the truth, this was the man we were looking for. Mikey Conway. The man Jake abandoned his other sons for, the one he settled down for. The kid who knew Jake more than any of us ever would. I don't know anything about him, and just a about half an hour ago, I didn't even know he lived here; it's a small world, and yet I felt like resentment for this guy. So he's the one we've been looking for? He's the little boy Jake decided to love? Well, I hope he was happy. Somehow though, I doubt it.

"I'm sorry…" the doctor, Mikey, was flustered. "I'm sorry, but who are you again?"

The smirk that might have been on Tyrell's face was long gone now. Now he was disappointed. "You don't remember me? No, no how could you remember? You were a child. Nah, of course you don't reme-" Tyrell suddenly noticed the blinding bleach hair. "The fuck happened to your hair, son?"

Mikey scratches his head. "W-Well, being in this business, ya know, being with doctors of this particular part of town, er, city-well, you gotta change a few things."

"Like?"

"I'm sorry, I can't talk anymore. I've said too much as it is, and I don't even know who you are."

"I'm Tyrell, a good friend of your fathers, and the bearer of bad news. This man next to me, this here is your brother."

Mikey looked at me with the most befuddled expression I'd ever seen. "Brother? Who?"

"Long story, man." I said. "Let's just say dad wasn't a very good family man as you may think he was."

"...I know he wasn't, and I suspected he was cheating on mom. But...you look so close to my age. How old are you?"

"Twenty-Six, you?"

"Twenty-Seven…" I could see the disappointment in Mikey's eyes, though he didn't seem very shocked. Yikes, he was only a one year old when his dad cheated on his mom. There are probably more children of Conway than I thought.

"You two can bond later." barged in Tyrell "Listen, I need to tell you something. You're in danger, Mikey. People are currently after you and several other Conway kids."

"Several…?"

"Told ya. Daddy wasn't very holy." I said.

"Yeah, it's a bummer, I know Mikey, but we need to get you out of here. They know who you are. We know you know where your dad is, so we need to find him. You acting like you have a different name won't work on the Devil's Hand if they already know who you are."

"Actually, I was being serious when I said my name wasn't Mikey. It's Michael now. Michael Kowalski. I'm sorry, I know I said a different name before, but I'm sure 'Michael' would have given it away easily." The good doctor was scratching his hands nervously. "I-I even changed my eye color. Well, rather I'm wearing color contacts. I'm a different man now, and to be honest, if you're here to find out anything about my father, I can't tell you anything."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Well...my mother, last time I talked to her, said he drove off on his old bike one day and never came back. I'm not sure where he is."

"Damn!" Tyrell exclaimed "So we still won't know for sure where the hell Jake is. How long has he been gone for?"

"Three years, I'd say. Just about."

"Any idea where he might be?" suddenly when I said that, I felt a numbing pain from my left shoulder. The pain was acting up again.

"Oh! Are you alright?" Mikey seemed genuienly concerned. Either that or he mistook my sudden groans as a cash register opening.

"No, he's not. He was shot just a few hours ago. We're here to see if you could help us, while also giving us as much info as you can about your father. Meanwhile we can fill you in on what exactly is going on."

"I…" Mikey took one good look at my pain-filled face, and suddenly he nodded with a determined look. "Okay, yeah, bring him to my office."

We head off into the room where Mikey emerged from. In there was an oddly clean exam table, and a desk that was also just as clean and very organized. It was well lit and filled with color, as opposed to the outside where it was shitty looking and dark as hell. Mikey may have his reasons for retreating into the low life of a black market doctor, but this room, this sanctuary spoke volumes about his personality. In fact the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Mikey wasn't really all that bad. He seems eager to help me more than he is eager to rob me. It just didn't seem right that he'd be working here.

At any rate, Mikey began examining my wound, made a few diagnosis, said a bunch of doctor lingo, but eventually concluded that I was going to be alright, and that I was lucky to have the bullet go through me. Again, I still didn't feel like a lucky man. I'll take his advice though, he must deal with hundreds of these kinds of wounds every day. Meanwhile, Tyrell was explaining the situation, about the Devil's Hand and about the Conway kids more in depth. Also he gave me a bit a trivia; turns out I was actually supposed to explain all this to Mikey, but given the circumstances, he had to "unfortunately" repeat himself. He even spat out new information I hadn't heard before.

"So you're saying the leader of the 8th Circle is right here in New York?" I asked.

Tyrell nodded "Yep, he's here. My guys gave me a tip that he was holding up at a stripper joint in Manhattan. More specifically in Murray Hill."

Mikey's eyes widened "W-Wait, Manhattan!? I live there!"

"In Murray Hill?"

"No, um, downtown actually."

"Shit!" Tyrell exclaimed "You were right under the Devil's Hand's noses. You're a damn good hider, doc. They've already killed three Conway kids, and you're telling me you've been living close enough to scrape their nuts this entire time, and they haven't even noticed you? That's crazy!"

"Wait a sec…" I pondered "Has anything suspicious happened to you, Mikey? Maybe some things have been off in your life and you just haven't noticed? It's hard to believe you've totally escaped their grasp."

Mikey paused for a moment "Now that you mention it...something has happened. I...no, it can't be anything related to that, nevermind."

"Mikey, if anything has happened, you have to let us know. Otherwise it could just end up biting you in the ass and we'd have no way of seeing the tell tale signs."

Mikey scratches the back of his neck nervously. "I….I have a friend. A very, um, 'close' friend. He's been living with me for a while now, but he hasn't come back home lately. I've been trying to get a hold of him for a while now, but I've gotten nothing. I've called his work, the places he usually hangs out, and I've gotten nothing from them."

Tyrell looks at me, and I look back at him. His eyes gaze at the floor "Mikey…" he said quietly "Your friend...there's a possibility the Devil's Hand-"

"No!" Mikey cuts him off "No, no! It's not true, why!? He has nothing to do with any of this! There's no way they would...I mean they don't even know where I live, how would they know who I love!?"

"Love?" I said. I expected as much when he said "close friend". "Mikey...you're gay, aren't you?"

He looks back at me with a serious face "It doesn't matter, does it? Look, just tell me if you know anything about Jordan! I've tried calling back home and nobody answered! That's how it's been like for the past few days! I come here every day worried sick, wondering where he might be…and then you two come along…" Mikey steps back away from us.

"Mikey?" asked Tyrell.

Faster than a bullet, Mikey goes behind his desk and grabs a gun from under the drawer and points it straight at us. His hands were shaking and his eyes were tearing up. "Wh-Who are you two!? Are you this 'Devil's' whatever-the-fuck!? Are you gonna kill me!? Where's Jordan!?"

Goddamn, I have to admit I was nervous as all hell. I've already experience the sensation of a bullet going through me, and I was apparently lucky enough to have it go through me, I'd hate to have him shoot me and have the bullet stick this time. I just instinctively raised my hands, with my left arm lower than the right. My mouth was open by how this was all turning out and how quickly this dissolved. I really didn't know what to say to the man, he was desperate and scared, and that's in now way a good combination. I just sat there, sweating, and I swallowed my own saliva.

"Mikey! Calm. The fuck. Down! What we told you is the truth!"

"Liar!"

"Don't be stubborn, kid!"

"I'm not being stubborn! I'm being rational!"

"If I was one of the Devil's Hand, don't you think we would have killed you by now!? And another thing, why would we tell you all about the Devil's Hand if were just going to end up killing you in the end!? Wake up! We've got nothing to do with them! I'm just an old man with a mind set on killing his old enemies once and for all! And this man next to me really is your brother! I'm sure he wants to end the cycle of death just as much as I do, right Rey?"

"Uh, yeah sure, yeah yeah!" Huh, I guess that was my purpose after all. To go to the Devil's Hand HQ and destroying what my father and grandfather never could finish. Hmm, but that doesn't sound quite right. Oh well, I'll get back to you on that shortly.

"W-Well...do you have any proof that you're not part of the devil whatever?"

Just then, a fierce knock came from the door, and the silhouette of a tall man could be seen from the other side.

"Everybody here is ordered to find shelter immediately! There's a raid coming soon!" the voice was gruff and deep, and the way he spoke was almost militaristic. Tyrell reacted to this voice by turning his head quickly towards the door.

"Guerrero! Is that you?" Tyrell shouted.

A brief silence overcame the room. "Mr. Jones? Is that you?"

"Who is that, Tyrell!?" nervously asked Mikey.

"That's Johnny Guerrero, one of my men."

"Devil's Hand?"

"No, a merc who works for me."

"Sir, is everything okay in there?" asked Guerrero.

"It's fine, Jo. We found one of the Conways, and he's a bit uneasy about all of this. We'll be out in a second, but in the meantime, ya mind giving me some info about this 'raid'?"

"Oh, it's bad sir. It's the Devil's Hand, they're bringing an army here - loads of bikers heading this way on the Washington bridge, we just saw them."

"Shit! How'd they know we were here?"

"Dunno, sir. We've informed all of the doctors here to take cover - find a nice spot to hide. Some of them have left the building entirely. We've tried to stop them, and we warned them about the dangers of being out there, but they wouldn't listen and went ahead and evacuated."

"Damn fools…"

"Wouldn't you want them to evacuate, Tyrell?" I asked.

"No. There's only one road that heads towards this building, and that links directly to the Washington Bridge. They're gonna end up driving right past the Devil's Hand gang and potentially get gunned down."

"Why would the Devil's Hand do that?"

"Just to make sure we aren't smuggling you boys outta here in other cars." Tyrell looks over at Mikey, who was now lowering his gun. "Do you believe me now?"

Without saying a thing, Mikey just stares at us and nods. "So then...Jordan…"

"We'll think about him later," Tyrell said as he stood from his chair, slowly and calmly as possible so that he wouldn't trigger Mikey into doing anything irrational. "for now we have to think of a way to get at the Devil's Hand before they wipe us out."

"Whoa there, Tyrell!" I said as I knew what he was implying. "Are you saying you want us to fight the Devil's Hand with you?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Guerrero!" 

"Yes sir!"

"Get the Hellbringer truck inside the building ASAP! We'll need to suit up the boys and everyone willing to fight soon! We'll meet you there!"

"Got it!" Guerrero's silhouette soon vanished, as did the audible heavy footsteps he made.

"Hang on there, Tyller, we're not exactly mercs! We're not killers in any sense!" I said, trying to make him see reason.

"Hmph, maybe goldilocks over there can't fight, I mean he can barely hold a gun, but you've got what it takes, Rey."

"What?"

"Yeah. You took a shot right through the arm and managed to keep yourself alive among a crowd of bikers five times your height and weight! Hell, I never even heard you complain about your pain, instead you were full of questions. You've got the heart of an adventurer, Rey."

"But not the heart of a warrior."

"They're both men molded from the same clay. Trust me, Rey. I've seen warriors of all shapes and sizes. Many of whom have surprised me. I run an industry of warriors, I can see it in their eyes, in their stance, I can hear their hearts beat a flaming fury that only be heard by other warriors. You have what it takes. You just need a weapon."

"I want to come too!" said Mikey whose voice nearly cracked as he said that.

"What? No way!" I said in astonishment "Doc, Mikey, you're totally not the kind of guy to go fighting!"

"I've seen more blood than you can stomach, Rey. If those bastards really have Jordan stuck somewhere, then...well then I'm going to do everything in my power to find him! If that means killing one man or an entire army, I'll do it!" Mikey was visibly shaking and was clearly nervous, but there was a subtle glimmer in his eyes that really spoke louder than his own words.

I look back at Tyrell, who had a wide grin on his face. "Tyrell, c'mon man. You can't really think he can fight."

He laughs "You guys really are Conway's kids." he puts his massive hand on my shoulder "Like I said, Rey. A ton of people have surprised me. Don't worry, I won't let any of you die. Now, follow me upstairs. I have a present waiting for you two."

The merc known as Guerrero helped lead all of us upstairs. He was our personal body guard. The walk up was kind of a quiet one, at least between me and Mikey. Tyrell kept talking onto his radio about some car that was supposed to be waiting for us, and he was strategically placing his men onto certain locations. From what I've heard, we only had about twenty or so mercs helping us fend of the nearly hundred Devil's Hand bikers coming for us. I was nervous, real damn nervous. My body was trembling, but if it were out of fear or out of excitement I could not tell you. Mikey was even worse, he seemed to have that thousand yard stare before he's even seen any action. To be fair, Mikey's probably seen more blood and guts more than I've seen in a lifetime, but this is the first time he'll be fighting for his life.

We reached the first floor of the abandoned warehouse. The Roosky looked mad as he just pacing back and forth with a lit cigarette. I don't think he was nervous that he was about to fight off an army of biker punks, more like he's annoyed that he has to deal with them at all. Beside him was this giant truck, much bigger than the one they brought me in with, and the truck was guarded by four mercs. One of them was talking on the radio, seemingly planning out with the others. As we head towards the truck, Tyrell has a quick word with one of the mercs.

"Scary, ain't it?" I asked Mikey. "Some craaazy shit."

"Yeah, no shit." Mikey said through his chattering teeth.

"Listen, I'm scared too, man. But what exactly can we do?"

"I didn't say I was scared."

"You're shaking like your scared."

"Back off! Just because we're half brothers doesn't mean you have to act like it! I mean shit I didn't even know I had a brother till you guys came along! You shouldn't act all buddy-buddy with me, I don't even know where I am anymore…"

I stopped talking. I was only trying to help the poor guy, he was sweating bullets. He does have a point though. Why would he take advice from a guy like me? Someone he's never interacted with before until just now? Felt kinda bad for even trying to start a conversation.

"Hey!" Tyrell waved us over "Quit fighting, you two and come here!"

We approached Tyrell when he suddenly moved aside and let our eyes gaze at the gun gallery he had on display for us from inside the truck. Pistols of all sizes, all calibers, shotguns everywhere, Sniper Rifles that were just massive, and some weapons I've only seen in movies like the AK-47. I looked in awe, and something in me ticked. I was staring at an arsenal, a giant arms store that had everything for free. Now I knew. I knew I was excited. I may die tonight, sure, but damn I'm gonna look cool dying. It was such a childish thought that I even began to chuckle at the thought. I turned my head and saw Tyrell smirking at me. I bet this was the look he'd seen on other mercs before. Or maybe it was the kind of expression my father gave before he went out to wipe off the Devil's Hand. I looked at Mikey, and he seemed way more nervous than before. Tyrell approached us.

"Well kids," he said "time to choose."

"You really think we can handle these guns, Tyrell?"

"Like I said, I don't know about Mikey, but I'm sure you'll have no problem shooting any of these. Ever gone hunting before?"

"Yeah?"

"Same thing."

"You have a lot of faith in me, Tyrell."

Tyrell smirked "You just have a familiar look to you, that's all." He looked at Mikey, who looked lost in thought. Tyrell put his hand on his shoulder, and Mikey snapped out of it and looked at Tyrell. "You'll be fine, son. I'll make sure of it."

Mikey simply nodded.

"Now then," Tyrell said, reaching into the pile of neatly stacked guns "let me show you two your father's favorite weapon." He then pulls out this behemoth weapon that made me nervous just looking at it.

"Tyrell," I said "that's an RPG."

"Yeah. I know."

The sounds of motorcycles engines were suddenly very noticeable. The collected sound of a hundred choppers made it sound like there was a monster heading our way. I wish that were the case. I would much rather have to fight one giant monster, than the one-hundred monsters heading our way right now. Hell was coming for us, the lost demons that needed to be dragged back. But we weren't going to let them. It's time we prove to them that we too are monsters.


	7. Chapter 6: War outside the Ward

CHAPTER 6

WAR OUTSIDE

THE WARD

The mercs around us wear getting prepared for the bloodbath ahead, while Tyrell was busy talking to us, that is, Mikey and I, about guns. Several different types of guns. He was making sure we all had the proper gear and proper training, even under the constraint time we had. The sound of the thunderous engines coming towards us was really psyching up the mercs, but Mikey was getting scared shitless. I wasn't any better, but Mikey definitely didn't seem cut out for this. He had to be snapped back into reality by Tyrell every now and again.

"Mikey!" he'd shout.

"W-What?" Mikey replied.

"Get your head in the game, kid! We'll die out here if any of you make mistakes!"

"Right, I-I'm sorry, I'll pay more attention this time."

"I hope so. Day dreaming out in the battlefield isn't the best thing to do. Could get you killed." Tyrell was unabashed about his choice of words, as he should be. What we were facing was something far larger than we would have expected this night. It's crazy to think that just a few hours ago, I was at a bar, drinking away my thoughts, drowning out the shit behind me. Now I'm here, a few hours later, tired, and afraid. I needed to hear the truth. There's no way to sugar coat what we were facing.

Tyrell took a good look at the small pistol Mikey was holding. "What is that you're holding?"

"Huh?" Mikey said, confused "W-Well, it's a pistol."

"I know that, dummy. I'm asking what's it called? Who made it, what's it's name?"

"I-I don't know, I just bought it for protection."

Tyrell groans in annoyance and snatches the pistol off of Mikey's hand. "Give me that! Sheesh…" as he examined the small pistol carefully, he asked "Ever shoot this thing before?"

"Yes, I have…"

"On anyone?"

"No, on bottles and um, practice dummies…"

"How good is your accuracy, would you say?"

"I'm pretty decent, I think…"

"Alright…" he puts the gun down next to the other, much larger pistols, and grabs one with a significantly larger barrel. "What you had was a Kahr K9. Real small, not that strong. It's good for scaring away the would-be mugger, I mean, any gun pointed at your average person can scare them away. However, we ain't dealing with no muggers. We're dealing with dangerous mother fuckers. That dinky little shit's not gonna penetrate through much." Tyrell hands Mikey the larger pistol "This is a Desert Eagle. Don't let the fact that it's a pistol fool you, it's mighty fine weapon. This will blow anyone's brains out."

"Isn't it a little too big for me?" worriedly asked Mikey.

"Sorry, Mikey. You'll have to deal with it. You ain't gonna be in the front lines, don't worry, this is just to protect you from any of those punks. But keep in mind, that has a powerful kick to it. Firmly grasp the gun with both of your hands, and get ready to fire when necessary. It's gonna sting, no doubt, but it's better than to get your throat cut open by the Devil's Hand. Or worse."

Mikey was shaking, but he seemed a bit better once Tyrell told him he won't be doing most of the fighting. Honestly, it kinda got me relieved too. I'm interested to learn more about Mikey, I really don't want him to die out here just yet.

"Rey!" Tyrell pointed his attention towards me.

"Yeah?"

"This is yours." He threw me pump-action shotgun. Let me say that again; he THREW ME A SHOTGUN.

"Wh-What the hell!?" I said, fumbling the damn thing.

"Hey, hey! Be careful with that" Tyrell said. Fuck him.

"Jesus-shit-Christ, what are you thinking!?"

"That gun," Tyrell was ignoring me "is suitable for you."

"How do you figure?" I asked the maniac.

"I just know. You look stronger than your brother, no offense Mikey."

Mikey just stood there, examining his gun.

"Anyway," Tyrell the lunatic continued "you seem like the kind of guy who can adapt, someone who can fight. Maybe you don't know it yet, but I know you can handle yourself if you're given the right gun. I think that's your gun, the Remington 870."

"I've never shot a shotgun before, Tyrell. Especially not a pump-action one."

"How about a rifle?"

"Yeah, I've shot one. And before you asked, I shot a Winchester Model 70. At deer. With a couple of buddies of mine."

"Well, it's not the same thing, but it'll have to do. Just remember to pull the pump all the way back or it'll jam. The shell will get stuck, and you won't be able to shoot anything at all."

"Can't I just pull the shell out?"

"Easier said than done. Trust me, when it jams, it jams badly."

"Sir!" yelled out one of the mercs "They're just up the hill! They'll be here within the minute!"

"Alright! Get the men ready! Is the C4 planted?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good, what about the snipers? Are they prepared?"

"Absolutely, sir!"

"Give me and the boys some time then. We'll be out there in a couple of seconds."

"Right!" The mercs scatter about like scarabs in the desert. Do scarabs travel in groups? At any rate, Tyrell came back to us.

"Alright boys, show me your stance. Quickly."

I didn't really know what the proper stance for a shotgun was, so I just assumed the position I would take if I were using a rifle. The end of the shotgun was right up against my collarbone, and I stood with my right leg back, and my left leg front. I aimed towards a corner of the building where nobody stood. I heard footsteps beside me and saw in the corner of my eye Mikey taking his stance. He held the deagle straight ahead with both hands, which were somewhat shaky. His knees were spread apart, and sort of had this weird "taking a dump" stance. Tyrell looked as us both.

"Rey, that's a great stance."

"Oh, uh, tha-"

"If you want your collarbone broken." he interrupted me. "Lean into your stronger leg, but not too much. Use that for balance. You don't want to be knocked back and havin' to readjust yourself every time you shoot. Press the mount firmly against your shoulder, and fire." I readjusted myself to what he said, and he smiled "Good."

Tyrell gazed at Mikey. "Straighten up, Mikey. Stand tall, and hard. Be like a rock. Ain't nobody gonna knock you down." Mikey straightens up his legs. "Try not to lock your elbows. I don't see many people doing it when they use a gun like that, but they do do that. I wouldn't recommend it though. Whatever makes you feel comfortable, I suppose."

Mikey stopped pointing towards the corner and looked down at the floor. "Tyrell…" he says "Will we be able to find Jordan?"

An awkward silence filled the empty room. Tyrell rubbed his chin, thinking deeply about what Mikey said. I looked at the both of them. I know Tyrell wants to help Mikey in any way possible, but at the same time I get the feeling he's not the kind of guy to just go out of his way for someone he's never met. Then, looking at Mikey, he seemed to be on the verge of tears. His eyes were clear, not watery at all, but there was just something about his facial expression that gave this impression that he'd been holding back his sorrows for a while now.

Tyrell was just about to say something, when suddenly the noise of hundred motors became more prevalent out of nowhere, and a voice filtered through a megaphone could be heard outside. Damn was he loud.

"COME ON OUT, KIDS!" the voice shrieked out manically "WE'RE HERE TO BRING YOU BACK TO PAPA!"

The voice was so loud and obnoxious that all three of us were covering our ears to save us from that vile noise.

"Shit!" exclaimed Tyrell "Damn! His voice is fucking awful!"

"I'M WAAAAITIIIINNGGG! LITTLE PIGS, LITTLE PIGS, COME ON OUT AND PLAAAAYAAAAAAYYY!"

Tyrell was huffing and puffing, and soon he blew a gasket and marched outside with a rocket launcher. "Boys!" he shouted "Get some armor on and stay put! If anyone gets in the building, shoot em to bits! Find cover!"

I wanted to yell back _I'm coming with you!_ but my cowardice got the better of me. It was best Mikey and I stood behind three mercs that was in the building with us. Still, I was curious to see what kind of wretched monster that voice belonged to, so as soon as Tyrell left, I quickly ran upstairs.

"R-Rey!" whispered Mikey "Where are you going!?"

I looked back and saw Mikey's worried face looking back at me. He looked like a lost puppy. "I wanna see what's going on out there."

"Be careful…"

I nodded reassuringly at him, and continued upstairs. As I walked along the catwalk, I saw a broken window that had a clear view of it all. I peeked through and saw motorcycles as far as the eye could see, starting from outside the building, all the way up the hill. Besides some of the bikers were cars. Really fancy cars that were on fire, and had tons of bullet holes through them. A ton of bodies lied outside naked. Blood was gushing out of them, all of them were cut open in a different way. Some had their throats cut open, others had their intestines dragged out, and I thought I could see a few with knives coming out of their. These guys were savage.

"WELL, WELL!" the obnoxious man was speaking again. "IF IT AIN'T LIL' OL' GRAND PAPPY!" I was looking for where the source of the voice was coming from without trying to be seen. From the sound of his voice, it was hard to pinpoint where he was. It just sounded like he was everywhere.

"CAN'T YOU HEAR ME!? I'M LOOKING FOR THE LITTLE PIGS, NOT THE FUCKIN' OLD WORN OUT FATASS!" The bikers roared with laughter.

Suddenly, I spotted him. At least, I'm pretty sure it was him. It was this really weird looking fellow with a large red coat and black fur. He was a black man, standing tall amongst the other bikers. What he was standing on was the strangest thing. He stood atop a passenger seat to a bike, an oddly designed bike that was attached to another bike via three passenger seats that were linked together. The two bikes were being driven by big burly men with beards that could give Santa a run for his money, and next to the bikers, on the passenger seats, were these voluptuous women. Right between them, in the middle passenger seat, the one that linked them all, was the man of the hour himself. The two women were cuddling up against his legs as he stood up on his seat.

"I gotta ask you something!" shouted Tyrell as he stood beside his personal army of mercs. "Are you the ring leader? Are you the 'Prince of Lust'?"

"HEHEHE! IS THAT WHAT PEOPLE CALL ME NOWADAYS? AW SHIT, I'M FLATTERED! BUT TO BE HONEST, I ONLY JUST RECENTLY GOT THIS JOB!"

"What?!"

"YEEEEP!" The man paced back and forth between the two other carts "FACT IS, THE GUY BEFORE ME, BLESS HIS SOUL, RECENTLY PASSED AWAY! AIN'T THAT A BITCH?"

"And what's your name?"

"OOHHH, SHIIEET; OLD BOY WANT'S TO KNOW MY NAME!? WELL I AM FLATTERED, I AM HONORED, I AM DELIGHTED TO GIVE YOU MY NAME!" he stood between the two hookers "MY NAME, IS FREDDY RYDER, BUT THE WOMEN OF THE NIGHT CALL ME BY ANOTHER NAME, AND WHAT IS THAT NAME, LADIES!?

He puts the megaphone right next to the girl beside him. "Hard Ryder." she says lovingly.

"OOOHH, AGAIN, WHAT WAS THAT?!"

Now he puts the megaphone next to the other girl "Hard Ryydeerr"

"ONE MORE TIME BABY, WITH FEELING!"

"Haaarrrdd Ryyyyddeeerrr!" they both say simultaneously.

"YEAH YEAH YEAH YEEEAAHH! THAT'S ME! AND IT'S ALL ABOUT ME! I AM THE MOTHER FUCKER YO MAMA WARNED YOU ABOUT, THE DUDE WITH THE "BAD DRUGS", THE BOY WHO'S "NO GOOD". I'M THE FUCKER MAMA SAID YOU'LL BE SEEIN' IF YOU DON'T STUDY! I AM-"

"Shut up!" Tyrell yelled at Ryder, stopping him in the middle of his speech. Thank God. "I don't care who you are, you're gonna end up a corpse soon if you don't shut the hell up!"

Ryder looked at Tyrell, unamused by his interruption. "Now ain't you a bitch?" Ryder was talking without the megaphone. He places the megaphone right up against his fingers and snapped. The sound of his megaphone-powered snap echoed through the hills. Suddenly, the engines on every bike stopped and it was eerily quiet once again.

"I know you must think you're safe, Ryder, but you're not. We got guns aimed at you, ready to pull the trigger at any moment."

Ryder chuckles, and the gang soon chuckles with him. "Mother fucker, we've got a hundred more guns aimed at YOU."

Tyrell lifts up his rocket launcher and aims at Ryder. "And I've got a rocket aiming directly for you."

Ryder didn't even flinch, unlike his two nervous ladies. "Haha! You shoot that shit at me, and I'ma show you fireworks too!"

"Oh? Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so, ho." With a shit-eating grin, Ryder leans forward and says "Shoot me, papa."

There was a dry silence between the two factions. I kept wondering why Tyrell won't shoot, he's got him right on his sights. The snipers were probably also aiming right at him. Ryder was out in the open, anybody, myself included, could have taken a shot and ended his man's life. What was going on?

"Wha's the matter, boy?" Ryder said "Got alzheimers or somethin'? Don't remember how to shoot shit? Or maybe...oh my lord!" he said sarcastically "Maybe you NEED me, that's why you're keepin' me alive, huh?"

Tyrell didn't respond.

"Well, ol' boy, guess if ya ain't gonna give me my fireworks, I guess I'll have to provide my folks with what I brought, huh!?" He turns around and faces the army of bikers. He uses the megaphone once more "WHAT DO YA THINK, GENTLEMEN!? YA WANNA SEE A FUCKIN' FIREWORKS SHOW!?" The crowd cheered, and roared, hollering and raving. "LLLLLLLET EM HAVE IT, KIDDIES! WHOO!"

Out on the top of the hill was a glint that was coming faster and faster towards the building. I wasn't sure what it was until it was too late; the bastard shot three rockets directly towards the roof of this building, and they exploded, erupting the peace this building once had. The explosion was powerful and shook the entire building. A huge chunk of the facade came tumbling down, and the catwalk I stood on took some of the shockwave and was knocked down. I fell a few meters to the floor hard.

"REY!" shouted Mikey as he came closer to me. "Holy shit, Rey! Are you okay!?"

"No!" I groaned in pain "No not really! Shit...but I'm pretty sure everything's in tact…"

"WASN'T THAT JUST FUN!?" the familiar and obnoxious voice shouted.

I got up quickly and ran towards the nearest window. I could only see Tyrell, frozen there, in shock. There was a burning corpse right next to Tyrell and it was screaming in pain. Tyrell took out his giant magnum and shot the man in the head. He then takes out his radio from his pocket and talks to whoever was on the other end.

"Yes sir!" I heard one of the mercs say right behind me, as the merc started leaving the building.

"You wanna see fireworks, mother fucker!?" Tyrell shouted "Enjoy THIS!"

Then suddenly, the sound of an explosion followed by an earthquake that shook me and Mikey to the ground. A giant fireball covered the sky instantly. Screams of pain could be heard everywhere, all around the building. They were the screams of madmen, of soon to be corpses. They filled the air, the sound of wind was now replaced with these shrieks. The demons have risen from the pits of hell, the screams now sounded like laughter. The devil was mocking us. Demons bathe in flame, and so this was nothing to them.

Among the screams was slight chuckling from a familiar voice. "THAT'S GOOD…" Ryder said "That's real good…GET YOUR GUNS OUT BOYS, AND PICK UP YOUR LIMBS! WE'RE GONNA PARTY LIKE FUCKIN' PORN STAAARRRRSSS!"


End file.
